“Just abide by my rules, Edgardo, and we will be, how do you say it? A-okay?”
“A-okay.” Edgardo’s voice sounds resigned.
The next jewelry store’s name sounds tackier than the first—Forever Gold. There are three salespeople helping a floor full of customers. This visit lasts no more than five minutes since the shop is so busy, and the salesclerk answering Edgardo’s questions is impatient to get back to his customers.
The jewelry is not as high-end as the jewelry from Gina’s Gems and as a result is more affordable. No wonder business is slow at Gina’s. A salesclerk tells a patron that most of their jewelry is imported from Italy. But when I overhear a few of the prices and see the inferior pieces, I have my doubts that the merchandise is imported from Italy.
I let Edgardo inquire about the box and remain silent this time to prevent further angering him. We have no luck at Forever Gold either since the salesclerk tells Edgardo that they have never used this style of box. He suggests we try Castello Jewelry or one of the jewelry shops on Steinway Street. He also reminds us that even if a local jeweler uses such a box that is no guarantee the jewelry came from that particular store. Sometimes people, especially men who are giving gifts to women, want to give the impression that the jewelry they bought is from a more expensive retailer than where they actually bought the piece. I am troubled when I hear this. Could it be my admirer is trying to pass himself off as being wealthier than he is?
Castello Jewelry is across the street from Forever Gold. Finally, a jewelry shop with a lovely name! When we walk into the shop, my eyes are immediately drawn to several exquisite pieces that are displayed prominently on top of the display cases. I regret having bought the sapphire ring at Gina’s Gems. I cannot pull myself away from a ruby and diamond necklace with three tiers and a matching bracelet and earrings. I am about to ask the man behind the counter how much the entire set is when Edgardo asks for me.
The salesman is smiling at me and looks straight at me when he answers Edgardo’s question. “This set normally is $10,000, but I’m trying to clear out some old merchandise to bring in new pieces. I can give it to you for half price.”
“$5,000 for all of these pieces? That would be as if I am robbing you!”
Edgardo gives me a stern look to remind me that I was supposed to remain silent.
“Your accent is beautiful. Italian, I gather?” the salesclerk asks.
“Swiss, actually,” Edgardo quickly responds.
“Ahhh, Swiss! So you speak Italian and maybe French? Or is it German?”
“Français, s’il vous plaît!” I cannot resist answering playfully. I have about had it with Edgardo for one day, and as I told him earlier, I am tired of hiding. So what if the salesman recognizes me.
The man laughs. “Unfortunately, I have forgotten the French I studied in school many years ago except for a few phrases. So shall I wrap the jewelry for you? If you do not want the entire set, that’s fine.”
“No, no! Of course I want the set! They are absolutely stunning.” I stare lovingly at the jewels.
“Perhaps you’d like to remove your sunglasses so you can get a better view of them?” The man motions as if he is about to take off my glasses. Edgardo quickly waves his hand away, shocking the salesclerk.
“I’m sorry. I did not mean to be so abrupt. It’s just that my wife had cataract surgery a couple of days ago, and she cannot remove the glasses. She forgets sometimes.”
I cannot believe the silly lies Edgardo is coming up with.
“Oh no, of course! I understand. My apologies. I had no idea.”
“Please wrap the jewels. I will take them. I can tell even through my sunglasses that they are perfect!”
“As you wish, mademoiselle.” The salesclerk bows his head toward me. He removes the ruby set from its display case and places the jewels in a large box. Edgardo and I take note of the box and look at each other, disappointed when we see it is made of black leather.
“Are all of your boxes the same? Do you carry any velvet ones?” Edgardo asks, trying to appear nonchalant.
“Yes. Since I first opened the business, these have always been our boxes. I have never deviated from this style.”
“So you are the owner?” I ask.
Edgardo has given up on giving me stern glances, realizing it is useless.
“Yes, my name is Rocco Vecchio.” Rocco shakes my hand.
I introduce myself. “Nice to meet you, Rocco. My name is Christine.”
I smile from ear to ear, looking at Edgardo, who is doing his best to ignore me.
Rocco then shakes Edgardo’s hand. Much to my surprise, Edgardo doesn’t come up with an alias.
Rocco begins wrapping the jewelry box, but Edgardo stops him. “That won’t be necessary, but thank you. We’ll just take the case as it is.” He then looks at his watch. “We’re running late and need to go if we’re going to meet everyone on time.”
I nod my head. “It was nice to meet you, Rocco. You have a beautiful shop.”
“Please, Christine. Come back anytime you wish.”
“I just might do that. I did not have a chance to look at all of your jewelry.”
“Good-bye, Mr. Vecchio.” Edgardo holds up his hand in greeting and with his free hand prods me forward.
“Please, Rocco. Everyone calls me ‘Rocco’.”
“Ciao, Rocco.”
“Au revoir, mademoiselle.”
Hmmm. That’s the second time he’s called me “mademoiselle” as opposed to “madame,” which would have been appropriate since Edgardo and I are acting as if we’re married. Then again, Rocco did say he had not taken French since he was in school. He probably forgot what the correct title should be.
We take a few steps, then Edgardo stops. “Just one more question if you don’t mind, Mr. Vecchio?”
“Of course not.”
Edgardo lifts my arm, showing my sapphire and diamond bracelet to Rocco.
“Have you ever carried such a piece here or even seen it at one of the jewelry shops in town?”
“My, what an exquisite bracelet! No, I’m sorry to say I have never carried anything quite like that. I would remember if I had. It was a gift, I presume?”
“And why do you think that?”
Edgardo is not thinking clearly today. It appears obvious to me why Rocco would assume my bracelet was a gift since we are asking whether he has ever carried the bracelet in his shop and what type of boxes he uses. It is apparent we are trying to locate the buyer of the bracelet and that it was given to me as a gift.
“Why would you want to know if I ever carried it if you and your wife had bought the bracelet yourselves?” Rocco shrugs his shoulders.
Edgardo looks slightly embarrassed. He nods his head. “Yes. Yes. I am sorry.”
Rocco holds up his hands. “No need. You’re not the first people to inquire if their jewelry was purchased here.”
“Really?” I cannot help but ask.
“Yes, really. People, usually romantics, still love to surprise their loved ones by playing the part of secret admirer.”
I am surprised. Romance and chivalry have seemed long dead to me. I cannot believe that I am being wooed again in my mid-fifties. Instead of obsessing over who is my secret admirer, I should enjoy it. Most women do not find themselves in this situation at this stage in their lives.
“Thank you, Mr. Vecchio. You’ve been very helpful. We won’t take up more of your time.” Edgardo places his hand in mine as if we really are a married couple and walks away. He has never taken such liberties with me before. I am too stunned to protest.
We are almost out of the shop when I stop to admire an intricate gold-filigree bracelet that is in one of the display cases near the exit.
“Come on, Francesca. Haven’t you bought enough for one day?” Edgardo whispers to me.
“You can never buy enough jewelry,” I snap back at Edgardo.
“Excuse me, Miss Donata?”
I look up and am face-to-face w
ith a pretty, blond woman.
“I’m sorry, miss, you’re mistaken.” Edgardo leads me away.
“Please, Miss Donata. I just have a quick question for you, and then I won’t bother you.”
I pull free from Edgardo’s grip and almost lose my balance in my heels.
“Would you like an autograph?” I whisper to her, glancing toward the back of the shop to where Rocco is on the phone and staring at me. Does he now realize who I am? Has he heard this woman say my name? Why am I whispering since I told Edgardo earlier I do not care if any of these jewelry shop owners recognize me?
“No, no, thank you. I don’t want an autograph. I . . . I . . . ahh, my name is Pia Santore. I live on your sister’s street—well, just for the summer. I’m staying with my aunt. She knows your sister. Her name is Antoniella. Maybe your sister has mentioned her to you?”
I shake my head “no.” Giuliana has not told me much, if anything, about her life in Astoria. I am even shocked she knows the neighbors and that she might have friends. She has always been quite the loner except for when we were the best of friends, I think sadly to myself.
“I work for Profile magazine. And I was wondering if there was any chance you might be interested in doing an interview with me?”
A reporter? She looks to be in her twenties. She must not have much experience. I cannot let some child interview me. I have always been very careful about whom I grant interviews to. Reporters and editors have a way of distorting the facts even when I have been careful and screened the questions before the interview.
“I am flattered, but I no longer do interviews. Thank you for asking. If you would please excuse me, I must be on my way.”
“But, Francesca, everyone is waiting to hear what your plans are.”
“Is that right?” I turn around.
“Yes. I heard you were talking earlier to your fans who have been camped out in front of Signora Tesca’s home. Everyone is disappointed you didn’t say more. Everyone is dying to know if you’re going to make another movie.”
“I do not believe you, my child. I made it very clear to the world that I was retiring from acting ten years ago.” I begin to walk away, but the girl is persistent.
“It’s the truth, Francesca. I’m sorry. I mean Mrs. Donata.”
“Miss Donata.”
“I’m sorry. I had it right the first time.” The girl smiles at me.
She is getting desperate and is resorting to humor. I can remember when I was that young and desperate, but instead of giving her a break, I snap, “If you are going to make it in the dog-eat-cat world of journalism, you had better get it right every time, my child.”
I pat her shoulder as if that will lessen the sting of my words and finally leave the shop with Edgardo.
“You sure didn’t let her off easily.” Edgardo blows a low whistle.
“When do I ever?”
“True. But she’s just a kid.”
“Kid? She has to be in her twenties.”
“That’s a kid to old folks like you and me.”
“She must learn. You think everyone was nice to me before I made it? If she is going to succeed, she needs to develop a thick shell. She will thank me years from now. I did her a favor.”
“Sure, if that’s how you want to see it, Francesca.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Whatever makes you feel better.”
“I tell the truth, Edgardo. You know that.”
“Forget I said anything. I’ve had my share of battles with you for today.”
We return to the Maserati without anyone else recognizing me. I am a little disappointed since I had hoped more people besides that young reporter would have recognized me. After all, my scarf and sunglasses do not conceal much. As we drive along Ditmars, I finally can begin to understand what compelled my sister to stay in this town. There is a certain charm in the markets and shops that line the boulevard. Many people seem to know each other as they stop to chat.
I close my eyes, pretending I am falling asleep. Although Giuliana lives a few blocks away, Edgardo has instructed the driver to get back onto the Grand Central to once again divert anyone who might have noticed me getting into the car. I think he is overreacting, but I do not protest. The drive will give me some time to myself before returning to the house.
Edgardo’s words still plague me. He thinks I am a bitch, as the Americans say. I mentally shrug my shoulders. That is not the worst insult I have received. It does not matter. I have my legions of adoring fans as was evidenced today. I suddenly remember Giuliana when she saw me reveling in my fame. I will never forget that look of disgust on her face. She is repulsed by her own sister. The tears silently fall down my cheeks. Edgardo is right. I am a bitch. For only a bitch would have betrayed her sister the way I did all those years ago.
11
Pia
I’ve totally blown it. I can’t believe I approached Francesca when I saw her walk into Castello Jewelry. I should have just waited for Gregory to talk to her. He’s not going to be able to put in a good word for me now.
All night, I’ve been sure to keep my cell phone by my side as I try to watch TV. Normally, I’m not waiting by a phone when a guy I like tells me he’s going to call. But in this case, I just want to know if Gregory has broached the subject of me with Francesca.
“My child . . . my child,” keeps ringing in my ears. Francesca was so condescending toward me. I should have given her a dose of her own obnoxious behavior right back and pointed out to her that the phrase is not “in this dog-eat-cat world,” but rather “dog-eat-dog world.” But I’d been too intimidated.
She’s your typical spoiled celebrity who thinks just because she had a successful acting career she can treat everyone else like crap. To hell with her! Yeah, right. Who am I kidding? I wish I could blow her off the way she blew me off, but unfortunately, I want this interview and the chance to prove to Colin—or Col—that I have what it takes to be a good journalist.
My phone suddenly rings. Gregory’s name appears on the screen. Before I realize what I’m doing, I answer the call after the first ring.
“Hey, Pia! You were waiting for my call, I see.” He laughs.
I shut my eyes tightly in disbelief that I answered the phone after only the first ring. Then anger supersedes my humiliation. Did he really have to point out my faux pas to me? I decide to lie.
“Get over yourself, Gregory.”
“Whoa! Whoa! I was just teasing you. I know you have better things to do than wait for my call.”
He really doesn’t have a way with words sometimes. But I decide to drop it before this snowballs into an avalanche. Mustering all my strength to keep my tone light, I ask, “So, what was your decision? Did you grant the queen her wish?”
Gregory laughs. “You’re in a bad mood! Hostility is just oozing out of you. What happened?”
“I’m sorry. You’re right. I am in a bad mood. I shouldn’t be taking it out on you though. Please, tell me how your meeting with Francesca went.”
“Only if you promise to tell me afterward what’s going on with you.”
Gregory has redeemed himself from his earlier transgression.
“Okay. Now tell me what you decided. Are you going to paint Francesca’s portrait?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Now had you decided you were going to do it before you went to see her or did she persuade you to do it?”
Gregory laughs. “Guilty as charged.”
“So, I guess her tricks of persuasion have worked once again.”
“Yeah, I guess so. But the truth is even when I told myself I wasn’t going to do it, there was a tiny, niggling voice telling me maybe I should. So it’s not like she had to work hard to change my mind.”
Work hard? What did she do to him? My thoughts are getting carried away. The envy I felt when Gregory and I were at the supermarket and he was going on about Francesca’s beauty returns.
“So, how exactly did she chang
e your mind?” I try to sound nonchalant.
“She just convinced me.”
My heart starts racing. Something doesn’t sound right. Did he sleep with her?
“Yes, but how? What did she say to persuade you to paint her portrait?”
“It’s not so much what she said.”
Oh my God! Something did happen between them.
“Gregory, why do I get the feeling you’re holding back?”
“Huh? What are you talking about?”
“Oh, now you’re going to play dumb.”
“What would I be holding back? If I wanted to hold anything back, I wouldn’t have even confided in you about this whole Francesca stuff.”
“Okay, go on. You were saying it wasn’t so much what she said that convinced you to paint her portrait. Then what was it?”
“You’ve got to promise me not to tell anyone this. I don’t want it to get out. She’d never forgive me, and I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself for hurting her.”
“I promise.” My pulse quickens again as I wait to hear him admit he slept with her. Isn’t that what starving artists who are trying to get ahead do?
“It was just the dejected look on her face when I told her ‘no’ initially.”
I breathe a sigh of relief.
Gregory goes on. “She looked really sad.”
“She didn’t actually persuade you? You just felt bad?”
“Well, I didn’t change my mind right away. I was trying to stick to my guns no matter how disappointed she looked. Francesca didn’t ask me flat out to change my mind. She asked me if I wanted another drink, and then she started making small talk. She asked about my parents. We talked about when I was a kid and how my father and I would visit her so he could paint her portraits. She then said what a shame it would be that I could not continue the legacy my father had left me. And shortly afterward, I told her I’d do it.”
“Francesca disarmed you by bringing up the warm memories you and your family shared with her. Subconsciously, she knew you would be reminded of all that she’s done for your family, so in essence she guilted you. Wow! She’s good, I hand her that.”
“I’m not so sure she was being that devious, Pia.”
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